


The Model

by Cruel_Irony



Series: Jarry Prompts [2]
Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: 5+1 Things, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mac Nightingale's A+ Parenting, Model Harry Thompson, Modeling, Obsessive Behavior, Slightly - Freeform, Tony Hutchinson's A+ Parenting, just read please, stalker vibes but it's okay, supportive family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 12:16:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18249662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cruel_Irony/pseuds/Cruel_Irony
Summary: For a Jarry prompt on Tumblr, Harry gets a modelling job post Storm week but pre Jarry reunion.Five times James sees a picture of Harry, and one time it was really him. Has a lot of pining on James' side and quite a bit of angst (because that's my jam). Allusions to prostitution, child abuse (Mac Nightingale) and canon-typical issues, I guess.Enjoy x





	The Model

The Bean, or whatever it is called nowadays, is packed with school kids and mums with prams and layabouts from town; half past three is the worst time to go anywhere, James really should have checks the time before he decided to get a coffee. The queue is almost to the door, the noise is driving him mad, and poor Scott is being run ragged behind the counter. By the time his coffee is ready, the next challenge arises - finding a seat.

James weaves through the other customers with a curl in his upper lip. God, why are people so irritating? Mothers unable to calm their bawling babies, teens in outdated shell suits talking in outdoor voices, the McQueens in one corner acting as if this was a nightclub. If only Romeo hadn’t broken his coffee machine back home, then he wouldn’t have to suffer like this. Sartre was right, Hell really is other people.

On the balcony upstairs James finds a seat alone. He moves the second chair away so that no one is even tempted to come near him. Back to the wall, newspaper raised to block his view of everyone else in the world, James settles in to semi-enjoy his afternoon off work.

He’s halfway through an article on rising house prices and two thirds through his coffee when the people next to him vacate their table, leaving behind empty, lipstick stained glasses; crumb covered plates; and open and dog-eared magazines. He’s looking over with a sneer, ready to fume internally about table manners, when one of the pictures on the spread catches his eye.

A second later he has the magazine in hand, his own newspaper hypocritically discarded on the floor. His eyes are fixed on one small picture among a hundred others of attractive young men in various states of undress, his gaze doesn’t stray away for a good long while. Because, there, in the bottom left corner of a double page spread, is Harry.

Harry, the man he watched marry another, who left a heartbreaking voicemail that he listened to too late to act on it. He hasn’t seen him since he threw him out of the flat in a fit of jealous fury - a fury that dissipated not two seconds after Harry stopped calling his name - not even around the village or in passing. Ever since then he has feared that Harry was back on the streets, selling himself to survive, cut off from his home and his family. Only pride kept James from searching the streets high and low to find him, pride and the realisation that he has a relationship with his new-found son to cultivate.

But here he is, radiant, if a little too thin and peaky for James’ liking, in expensive clothes looking like he belongs in the pages of a magazine or on the runway in Paris. Harry has found his calling. A tension James didn’t know he carried with him disappeared. He didn’t have to worry about Harry source of income anymore; he had a job now and maybe a stable place to live. Harry is finally moving on from that awful period of self-punishment and low self-esteem, he is becoming the person he could have become years ago if life hadn’t held him back.

And then the ache begins. Because as proud and elated as he is for Harry to be getting his life back on track, part of him mourns being a part of Harry’s life. Harry doesn’t need him now. After so long being the rock in Harry’s turbulent life, being the one person he could talk to, James doesn’t know what he would be to Harry now if they ever met again. Would Harry even be attracted to him now that he’s no longer in need of a lawyer or a pimp or a landlord? James knows that he is undeniably in love with Harry Thompson, but that voice in his head, that sounds a lot like his father, whispers doubts of Harry’s own feelings about him.

Furtively looking around the coffee shop, James slips the magazine into his briefcase. If the closest he will ever get to Harry now is through a glossy picture in some fashion magazine, then he will take it and be satisfied. He picks up his newspaper and resumes reading his article as if nothing happened. His coffee has gone cold and no longer tastes nice, and he has read the same line five times over. He just wants to go home and stare at Harry until night falls. It’s a stalker move, he knows, but so long as no one knows it should be fine.

James tidies his table then heads back home, his mood so morose that even an afternoon spent relaxing around the village can’t lighten his spirits. A dark mood hasn’t been uncommon since Harry’s wedding, and his family are used to something setting him off and ruining his enjoyment, though he pushes it away much of the time to focus on Romeo and the other problems. So his mother doesn’t spare him any words of advice when he walks in with a raincloud over his head, only shoots him a pitying look.

He hides away in his room, shutting and locking the door firmly behind him, and listens out for one of his nosey houseguests. Once he's sure that no one is going to convince him to move on and mend his heartbreak over night, James takes a shoebox out from under his bed and the magazine out from his briefcase. After one longing look at the small picture of his ex-lover, James slips it under the shoes and puts the box back under his bed.

*

The next time James sees a picture of Harry modelling is a few weeks later. He has been periodically taking out the old magazine and staring at Harry’s beauty, admiring him, fantasising about what he’s doing now, and lamenting the relationship they lost before it even began. Harry has begun to feature in his dreams more often than in his nightmares. In the nightmares, James relives that moment in the storm when he forced Harry away mixed in with watching him and Ste be happily married. But in these new dreams, Harry is smiling at him. Mostly it’s just that - Harry smiling - because that’s all he wants.

But taking out that picture and knowing that Harry is okay has been James' lifeline. After a bad day at work, after an argument with his son, after seeing Mac limping around as a free man, Harry, though not physically there, eases his pain.

There have been a few close calls. When his mother disregards personal boundaries and barges in to rant about Cindy or the McQueens, or when Romeo and Juliet go snooping because they’re little devils with no manners. Either they almost found the picture in his shoebox or they caught him staring into its depths with cow-eyes on full display, but James has only managed to keep Harry’s picture away from prying eyes through some rather suspicious activity. You’d think a lawyer would be better at lying on the spot.

So seeing Harry in another magazine, a newer one, is both a punch in the gut about what he can never have and a reassurance that Harry hasn’t fallen off the wagon.

Scott is gossiping with Martine, Simone’s sister and the new boss of Price Slice, while flicking through the fashion mags. They’re judging the outfits and the poses, rating the models out of ten and playing some childish game involving kissing and marrying. James had tried to block out their inane chatter until he caught Harry’s name and had peered over their shoulders and seen Harry on a page of his own looking very fine.

“OMG! Is that Harry?” Scott had cried, scandalised. “I didn’t know he was into modelling.”

“Who’s he?” Martine replied, yanking the magazine closer to her. “He’s handsome.”

James had to agree with that assessment. Even from the brief look he got he knows that Harry is doing even better than the last time. Modelling for an expensive and popular brand, a picture taking up the whole page rather than a mere pixel in the bottom corner, and his face and body are filling out, too. Harry had no modelling experience and yet he looks like a natural.

James continues with his shop, avoiding eye contact with Scott when he catches James’ not so subtle behaviour. He almost buys the wrong wine, too distracted by Harry’s eyes to focus; it’s only when he’s waiting in line for the till that he realises and hastily changes it. But, he resists buying the magazine that day. He clenches his fists to keep from grabbing it and making a fool of himself. The last thing he wants is to draw attention to his obsession with Harry, and definitely not in front of Scott, the local gossip. So he pays and thinks about Harry all the way home.

He comes back two days later, when his mother sends him out on an errand, and he is prepared with excuses for buying a magazine he has never shown any interest in before. It goes into the shoebox with the other one, and James thanks God he’s no longer a naive, lovesick teenager, else he would have drawn pink hearts around Harry’s face and written ‘Mr James Thompson’ a thousand times over already.

*

“Mother, why must I accompany you? I’ll just be sitting in the waiting room doing nothing.” James complains, pouting like a child. There are so many better things he could be doing today than chauffeuring his mother to her bimonthly spa day. Work, bonding with Romeo, plotting his father’s downfall… googling Harry for the thousandth time that morning.

Marnie gives him a poignant look, a mix of pity, annoyance and motherly charm. “You need the fresh air.”

“I’m not five. I don’t need a walk in the park and fresh air.”

“You’ve been working from home for the past two weeks and you’ve only left the flat for minor errands. You need to go out, see people, socialise. Don’t be a hermit, James.” She scolds as they walk into the reception. Reluctantly, he lets his argument go; there’s no need to cause a scene.

There’s a vapid brunette behind the counter, her face plastered in ‘neutral’ makeup, and her nails click on the keyboard as she checks mother in. James already knows that this will be the worst three hour wait of his life. His IQ is dropping lower with each second in this place, and his bank account; no doubt his mother will want him to pay for it all.

The minutes are ticking slowly by. James has been through his emails ten times already and has exhausted himself practising that stupid video game Romeo plays on his phone. He’s getting the hang of it, but he just isn’t interested in that kind of thing and he’ll never be as good at it as his son. Perhaps they could bond over movies - James goes to book cinema tickets for he latest blockbuster before realising he should probably talk to Romeo first; the boy has a very volatile temper and serious trust issues. Yes, talking is best.

The receptionist approaches hesitantly and asks if he’d like a coffee and some biscuits while he waits. James is too bored to say no. So bored that he contemplates reading the trashy gossip rags on the coffee table. The woman returns, smiling innocently. She sees the magazines and makes a quick assessment.

“You’re probably not interested in those. Here.” She reaches behind the counter and takes out a stack of more sophisticated and less wrinkled fashion magazines. Some are old, some newer, and though most of them are for women, there are still pictures of very attractive men. Perhaps she isn't as vapid as he fist thought.

James sips his drink, and he must admit she makes a good latte, while slowly turning the pages. He’s going to make this last, by God, and he’s going to indulge. Men in form fitting suits, topless in just their underwear, naked and stretched out by the side of a pool. His mother did insist on him forgetting about work.

He doesn’t spit out his coffee, not like those dramatic sprays you see in films or on TV. He simply stops moving, stops drinking, all his attention is focused on the double page spread in front of him. The world goes silent. The apocalypse could come and he would be none the wiser.

In the magazine is a heavenly tribute to one Harry Thompson. Dozens of pictures of just him, in every look and position imaginable. Clearly, he is rising through the ranks of whatever agency he’s part of, and quickly. James has never been so proud. (Though he does wonder what Harry did to get there). He’s radiant, absolutely glowing. There’s a healthier parlour to his skin, and he’s filled out with muscle, and there’s a hint of stubble on his cheeks that James just wants to stroke.

He keeps the magazine in his hand while he waits for his mother to be done. And when she comes out, it’s easy to casually keep hold of the glossy pages while he pays, acting as if nothing is amiss. Just as he planned, no one notices him steal it from the spa. Or so he thought.

“James.” Marnie drawls in a deep and serious tone. She stops walking and turns to face him. “You haven’t looked at a fashion magazine, let alone stolen one, since you were eight. Do you want to tell me what’s going on? And don’t lie to me - I know what’s in the shoebox.”

James freezes. How can he fully articulate his feelings for Harry? How they’ve grown exponentially since he first saw his picture in a magazine? How can he tell her about his need to know that Harry is well? Even if they can’t talk, or see each other face to face, he knows with each new photograph that he’s okay. His obsession just keeps growing but he doesn’t want it to stop.

He says nothing, but she has always been able to read him. She sees it all written across his face. “Oh, James.” And she’s back to pity. James hates it. He knows what he’s doing is rather pathetic and sad, but it’s better than being a cold, dead shell.

“Don’t, mother. I’m a big boy now and I can live my life how I choose. If I want to waste my life obsessing over someone I lost, then I will.” James starts to walk away. Marnie purses her lips but follows obediently. “And you’d better not have done more than look in that shoebox, or so help me, mother, you will regret it.”

“You’re so melodramatic, darling. Your shoebox is safe.” Thankfully, she says no more on the subject and the nervous unease in James’ stomach disappears.

*

Romeo coughs, fidgeting awkwardly where he stands in the doorway of James’ bedroom. James is tying his tie while absently keeping an eye on his son. He doesn’t want to push, but he knows this is serious.

“Um, D— James.”

“Yes, Romeo?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” James wracks his brain thinking of anything Romeo could have to be sorry for. He comes up blank. He hasn’t thrown a house party. As far as he knows he hasn’t been sneaking into James’ liquor cabinet without permission. And Juliet hasn’t been in trouble at school for a few days now; that’s a new record, James thinks.

“You know the date I went on, with Lily?”

“Yes. You said it went well. Did it not? Do you want to talk to me about it and cry on my shoulder, or watch an action movie and delay feeling until tomorrow? I am here if you want to talk.” James looks at his sons seriously, ensuring he knows how sincere he is. He won’t joke about his son’s feelings.

Romeo shakes his head, but smiles slightly all the same. “I know that. But it isn’t Lily. Not really. It’s just… I didn’t have a tie, well, not one that I liked, so I asked Marnie and she said you have some old ones you never use, so I went looking. In here. And I… I kind of found your shoebox.”

James hands fall away from his tie. Oh, shit. First his mother knows, and she keeps sending his sly glances and raised eyebrows, but now his son knows, too. Marnie knowing is one thing, she’s his mother and she knows about his less than completely moral attitudes towards sex and love (she condoned paying Harry ten grand to sleep with him, after all). But, Romeo? They’ve only just met, they don’t know each other. One wrong impression could ruin everything. And hoarding photos of your ex-lover in a shoebox under your bed like an illicit secret is most definitely taboo.

He doesn’t say anything. He knows better than to give anything away or make assumptions before he knows just how much of a creep Romeo thinks he is. Romeo seems to realise that he won’t say anything.

“I know we met when you paid me to ruin Harry’s wedding, then un-ruin it, but you don’t talk about him and I’ve only actually seen the two of you together once. So, what I’m trying to say is, I didn’t realise how much you love him until I saw your… collection? I’m not saying it wasn’t super creepy at first - lots of stalker vibes - but I get it now. You miss him. You love him. And you don’t have any other pictures of him, do you? No other ways to remember him except from your memories.”

James nods. Everything Romeo said is true. To be honest, he’s in awe of his son’s maturity. Other sons would yell at their fathers if they found their stalker stash. James blinks away the prickling mind his eyes. Having someone else acknowledge his love for Harry, after it being a closely guarded and acted secret for so long, makes him want to sob and curl into a ball. He doesn’t deserve a son like Romeo.

James clears his throat and puts his trembling hands back to work on his tie. “It’s not that creepy. I haven’t put a tracker in his phone and I’m not following him around with a camera taking pictures of him from behind a plant pot.” Though he laughs it off, there's still a tremble in his voice.

“But you are still collecting pictures of him and putting them in a secret box under your bed like it’s your porn stash. It’s practically a shrine.” Romeo smirks.

“Harry and I know each other, we’ve slept together. I’m not some psycho he’s never met. It’s not that creepy.”

“Sure it’s not. But, honestly, James, you don’t have to defend it. I get it. In fact, just to prove that I do, I got you this.” From behind his back, Romeo takes out a fashion catalogue, thick and glossy and with Harry right on the front cover. “As you can see, he’s on the front, and he’s on several pages throughout.”

James takes it reverently. “Thank you, Romeo.”

“No worries. Now, I’ll let you go add that to your shrine, shall I?”

Romeo slips out of the room before James has a chance to rebuke him. He smiles, glad to finally have such an understanding and loving family.

*

James and Romeo are coming out of Price Slice when they see it. It would be impossible not to. James stops still, frozen in place. Romeo almost runs into him. It only takes a second for his son to realise what happened. When he sees it, he pats his dad on the shoulder and nods. Patiently, he waits until James has seen his fill.

A new billboard campaign dominates the wall opposite the hairdressers. Three posters, each of a different guy in a sharp suit looking straight out of Peaky Blinders or the 1950s - attractive, in short. Very, very, very attractive. And Harry is right there is the middle.

“Shame you can’t put that in your box.” Says Romeo, and not insincerely.

James doesn’t reply. He tears his gaze away from Harry’s dazzling smile, because they are in public and is standing in the middle of the street. And, to make things better, everyone in this village knows about their history. He’s just asking for gossip.

His steps are sluggish on the way back home. Harry really is on the up. He’s making a life for himself away from James, and he knows that the thought is selfish but he can’t help but feel slightly abandoned. Harry could have a long line of suitors and admirers waiting desperately for him to even look their way; so why would he want to come back to James, his ex-pimp, a mundane lawyer.

James just misses him. He misses making Harry smile, the way his eyes light up from within when he is truly, deeply happy. He misses their affectionate banter and Harry’s ability to see past James’ bravado to the scared and broken man inside. Their pillow talk, their intimate understanding of each other’s bodies and souls. He even misses catching a glimpse of Harry around a corner or too far away. This must be love, he supposes, if he is but an empty shell without him. Forever merely one half of a whole.

This is a love he has waited his entire life for. For so long he has believed himself incapable of loving and being loved, but now he has someone he can’t imagine living without and he jeopardised everything. One stupid mistake later and the love of his life is so very far away.

If… when Harry returns, because he must eventually, either for James himself or for his family, James will do his damnedest to make up for his mistakes. He will prove himself and he do whatever it takes for however long it takes. He will get Harry back.

*

James gets the call, thankfully, during his lunch break at work. If it hadn’t have been lunch he would have offended several of his superiors by sprinting from the building - and he wouldn’t have been ashamed of it. But, by sheer coincidence, James is packing up to head out for his lunch, alone because his colleagues are still insufferable after so many years, when Romeo calls.

At first, he fears it’s about Juliet and her abysmal behaviour at school, or maybe Marnie got in a fight at the shopping centre over a pair of high heels. So he answers tiredly: “What happened now?”

“Harry’s back!”

James sputters, perking up immediately. His son better not be pulling some elaborate and cruel prank. “What? If you’re—”

“I’m not kidding, I swear.” Romeo interrupts. James isn’t in the mood to chastise him for it. His heart thunders in his chest and his palms are sweaty, his crushing grip on his phone slipping.

“Well?” He snaps, impatiently, swearing to apologise later. “Go on.”

“He came to the flat this morning - about an hour or so after you left for work.”

“That was two hours ago, Romeo! Why didn’t you call me then? And don’t say it was because you thought I was working - you called the other day in the middle of a meeting because we ran out of cheese.” He can practically hear Romeo rolling his eyes on the other end of the line, and he knows a torrent of teenage sass is waiting to be unleashed. He sighs, “exhaling his frustration” as his mother calls it. “Just, go on.”

“Okay, so, he knocked on the door, but Marnie was out and I was still in bed. By the time I was up and opening the door, he’d been… accosted, let’s say, by Zack and dragged round the corner before I could get a good look. And I kind of thought I was imagining it, like I was just seeing his picture in those magazines you hoard. So I let it go. Until I was walking round the village with Lily and I saw Harry outside the Hutch with Zack - turns out I wasn’t imagining anything. So you’ve got to get over here now - you’re on lunch, right?”

James grabs his briefcase, not caring that most of his files are still strewn about his office, and sprints to the car park. The village isn’t too far; he can get there, hopefully before Harry moves on.

“Is he still at the Hutch?” He asks Romeo, who is patiently still on the phone. He must remember to thank him, maybe start giving pocket money or more books.

“Yeah, but he’s talking to his dad right now.” Romeo pauses. “You know, he came to see you first… kinda looks like your his priority.” He says suggestively.

James fights down the rising grin. He can’t get his hopes up. If he believes Harry came back to the village for him, after cultivating a successful modelling career in just a few months and getting his life back on track, only to be rejected and thrown aside like rubbish, his heart will truly be broken. Better to have low expectations than high, that way you are always pleasantly surprised rather than bitterly disappointed. So, with great self-restraint, James keeps the grin off his face and clenches his fists on the steering wheel, while knowing that this resolve will crumble when he sees Harry face-to-face.

He’s still on the phone to Romeo when he pulls into the village. He’s been giving regular updates on Harry’s conversation with his father - where they’re sitting, who started yelling first, and which of them looks to be in the right. Neither of them are crying, thank God, because James cannot deal with Harry crying right now - it’s his weakness.

James slams his car door as Harry storms out of the Hutch, his dad staring after him from inside. It only takes a second for them to lock eyes, and it’s as if the rest of the world goes dark. Harry has a new jacket. It looks good on him. God, why isn’t James moving closer to him? They’re just standing staring at each other like idiots in a rom-com.

The trance is broken by Romeo nudging James forward, rather violently if James might add, and they come together. But neither of them really know what to say, it seems. Words are inadequate. After months apart and endless nights - and days - spent fantasising about this very moment, James’ mind has gone blank.

He croaks, “Coffee?” And his fears disappear when Harry nods eagerly and leads the way. They walk in silence, and James is distantly aware of Romeo tailing them. They order and get a seat before either of them works up the courage.

“So…” James starts, but he trails off. Where to start? 

“You were right, James.” Harry looks him dead in the eyes and James is transfixed, intent on everything he says and does. Just hearing his voice and seeing him move, having him be more than a glossy, unmoving figure on a piece of paper, is overwhelming. “I was a coward. I was immature. I hurt so many people, and you deserved so much better. You’ve taken me back time and time again, even after everything I put you through, even when I was far from grateful. But I am - grateful. Truly. The time away, as painful as it was, has given me perspective. I’ve grown up, got my life back on track, and I’m realising who I am outside of my relationships and my family. I’ve… become my own person.” He smiles, so brightly and widely. It’s everything James ever wanted, Harry to be happy.

“I’m glad,” he manages to reply. “I’m aware of your, um… progress.” James coughs. “I saw the…” he gestures, wave his hand.

Harry chuckles, “The pictures. Yeah, that was a trip. I didn’t know what I was doing at the beginning, but it’s easy to put your body on display like that when you know how much worse it could be.” They both sober up, and Harry clears his throat.

“How did you get into it?”

“A friend of a friend, who’s sofa I was sleeping on. She saw me coming out of the shower with a towel around my waist and I got cajoled into doing a shoot and it spiralled from there. I think they mostly just wanted me to get a job and get out of their flat. But it worked out. I have my own place, sharing with a guy from work, and pay is good - very good - and I’ve even got savings.” Harry practically glows as he mentions the money he has saved just for himself. It’s a source of great pride, James can tell.

“You’re very good, Harry. A natural, I’d say.”

Harry blushes. “What about you? How have things been, since…?”

“Well, I think I mentioned my son.” He points to where Romeo has gotten a table near their’s; he waves and smirks at them. Harry ducks his head. “We’ve been trying to work things out. But seventeen years thinking your dad abandoned you leaves quite the mark, and you know I’ve never been one for children. I think it’s working.”

Harry reaches across to take James hand, but he stops himself a few centimetres short. James closes the gap. “Don’t worry, James. As long as you try, and you put him first and you make the effort, you’ll be good. And anything you can imagine your dad doing, don’t do it.”

“Good idea. When did you get so good at parenting?”

Harry’s face falls. “I didn’t know my dad until I was eight, and he didn’t know I existed until my mum showed up with me at his thirtieth birthday party. Back then he wasn’t as good a dad as he is now. I wish I had Ant and Dee Dee’s dad.” James furrows his brow. “He was dating one of the McQueens at the time, and she made him choose between her and me, and he chose her. He never tried very hard until a couple of years ago. That’s why I know that’s what you should do - because maybe things with my dad would be better if he’d made more of an effort.”

James shifts his grip on Harry’s hands, so that he can give comfort now. “Romeo saw an argument between you and Tony. What happened?”

“We were just catching up at first. I asked how their Christmas and New Years went, and how Dee Dee’s recovery has been going, and about Lily. Everything was okay. Then he said that maybe it was too early for me to come back to the village - that Ste wouldn’t take too kindly to having me walking around, and that they weren’t ready to have me come home. I tried to tell him that I have my own place and that Ste has no say over what I do anymore, but then he started talking about my new job.” Harry smiles warmly at James’ furious frown. “He said it was bad enough for Ste seeing me parade myself in magazines and on posters, and that he didn’t think I would set a good example for Dee Dee, Ant and Rose.”

“How would you be a bad example? You have a job that you’re incredible at and you’ve grown up so much in just a few months!”

“James. You’ve seen some of the brands I model for. He seems to think me posing for a camera in underwear or some revealing suit is just as bad as prostitution - he might have called it endorsed prostitution, or something? And he said he doesn’t want the kids to think that kind of exploitation is okay. But…”

“There’s a but?”

“He implied that if I used my new occupation for appropriate things it might allow me to see the family again.”

“I’m confused.”

“He wanted me to do some ad campaign, I think, for the restaurant.” Harry’s nose wrinkles adorably, and James can’t help mirroring him. He can’t begin to imagine what Tony and in mind for advertising, but he can guess it would be tacky.

“The same exploitation he just criticised. And I thought he could sink no lower. I hope you told him where to stick it.”

“I did. I’m done letting other people’s wants get in the way of mine. And, speaking of, what I want right now, is to make it up to you.”

James sighs. “You don’t have to do anything, Harry. I understand why you did everything you did, and I know how repentant you are now. I forgave you the moment I threw you from my flat. But, can you forgive me?”

“Of course, silly.”

“In that case, I think we could both do with a fresh start. Yes?” His heart is racing, hardly breathing until Harry answers. Please, please, please, please, please….

“A thousand times yes.” He can’t keep his grin off his face; he fears his lips might split with how wide he is smiling. Harry’s eyes sparkle as he stares at James. They would kiss, deeply and passionately, if only there wasn’t a table in between them. 

Romeo, hearing those words and seeing their lovestruck cow eyes, bounds up and flops into the chair beside them, smirking victoriously. He elbows Harry, “Just wait until you see his shrine.” James shoots him a glare, but can’t stop his heart from singing.


End file.
